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Talk:The Lion King 1½/@comment-81.229.87.120-20130305172223
Uncle Max: {fuming} That would be... TIMOOON! Timon: {embarrassed} Heh heh heh. Hey, everybody! Meerkat1: Ha ha. Nice work, Timon. Meerkat2: Way to go, tunnel klutz. Meerkat3: Who else could break a hole? Meerkat4: Four in a week—a new record! Ma: {quietly despairing} Not again... Timon: What? {defiantly} It's called a skylight! {The "skylight" crumbles to nothing.} Ma: {trying to salvage the situation} Ho ho. Wow! Isn't that creative. A skylight! Oh, ha ha. {seeking discretion as the better part of valor} I'll just have a word with him. {Ma leads Timon away from the scene of the collapse.} Timon: I... I was just trying to shed a little light on our pathetic existence. Ma: Timon, this can't go on. Just this month, you've pulled down four walls and collapsed two tunnel exits. {She combs Timon's hair} We have to look after each other. Our survival depends on it. Timon: What's the point? All we do is dig so we can hide, and hide so we can dig. {Ma finishes combing his hair, which "poofs" up into a bunch of spikes} I wanna be where we don't have to dig tunnels and live with our heads stuck in the sand. {pushes some grass apart and gazes out over the horizon} What's so bad about dreaming of a better home? Ma: {joins him at the gap in the grass} I wanna show you something. Look, Timon. Go on, look. {Camera pulls back to a panoramic view of the Pride Lands in all their golden-lit majesty, as the "This Land" theme plays} Look out to the horizon, past the trees, over the grasslands. Everything the light touches... {sharply} belongs to someone else! {A record needle scratches; the grasses snap back together and block the view.} Timon: Funny. I thought you were going a whole different direction with this. Ma: What can I say? It's nature's design. Uncle Max: {appears out of the grass suddenly} She's right! We're food for other animals—a moveable feast. Feared by no one and eaten by all! Timon: But when they die, they become the grass. And we eat the grass... right? Uncle Max: Not exactly; we can't digest grass. We're grass intolerant. Ma: {snatches Timon away} Ok, Max. Thank you. You've been a big help. {To Timon} Honey, I— Uncle Max: {appearing out of another stand of grass} Meerkat... it's what's for dinner! Ma: {increasingly sarcastic; pointing meaningfully off into the distance} Thank you, Uncle Max. Uncle Max: {groans at the camera} Uhh. {disappears} Timon: I think Uncle Max dislodged one too many rocks with his skull. Ma: But he's right, Timon. {She tries to comb his hair again; a bug flies by, and she snatches it and squishes it into hair gel} Oh, I just know there's a way for you to fit in here. {Timon glowers from under his plastered-down hair; a single hair springs back up, and he sighs.} Uncle Max: {off-screen, to other meerkats} All right, who's on sentry duty? Ma: {perks up with inspiration; gasps} That's it! That's it—My son on sentry duty! Timon the sentry! {cut to Uncle Max being told of this idea} Uncle Max: {in horrified shock} Timon the sentry?! Why don't you save the hyenas the trouble and kill me now? Just kill me now! Timon: He has a point. Ma: All you have to do is watch for hyenas and yell if you see one. Look at Iron Joe. Iron Joe: {in the middle of a nervous breakdown} Don't close your eyes! Don't look away! Somebody's gotta guard us! Somebody's gotta protect us! {Breaks up in sobs as a couple of meerkat orderlies carry him away, raving, from his post} Timon: Well. Now I'm convinced. Ma: Listen—it's outside, up in the breeze, under the wide open sky—isn't that what you want? {to Max} Or maybe you would rather have him go back on the digging crew. Max and everyone: NO! {Camera switches to the entire colony of meerkats, listening intently, and now pretending nonchalance and clearing their throats} Ma: Good... then we all agree. Timon, listen to Uncle Max. He'll teach you everything you need to know. And honey, {earnestly} try to make this one work.